A Garage Full of Lawnmowers

Caffeine Presse

I filched an apple. I was seven years old.

I was thirteen when I spotted the bag of fresh rolls and bread the bakery driver had left in the restaurant’s doorway. After that I had fresh baked something every day for breakfast but not always from the same restaurant. Variety is good.

In high school I worked in the super market and noticed that women leave their purses open in the baby seat of their carriage with coupons protruding while they molest the fruits and vegetables. One wallet a month was my limit.

College kids are trustworthy and don’t lock their dorm rooms. Need I say more? Mealtime was always a good time to visit.

I borrowed my English Professor’s wife and then moved on to the sciences.

I worked in the main office and knew when the department heads would be away on trips. They should be ashamed of the personal things they left for people to find. I confronted them directly and extracted something of value—a grade, the use of their car, a little cash—never too greedy.

These days I’m married with two kids, a ranch house in the suburbs and a good job. Unlike my earlier years when I justified my actions by my low socioeconomic conditions—I now just accept who I am.